


it's the same as it's always been

by Anonymous



Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicide Attempt, Whump, author does not know a single thing, i guess??, i was high when i wrote this enjoy, not a happy ending im sORRY, not really but almost, therapy is expensive projecting onto characters is free
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28222932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Obi Wan is tired. Down to his bones and the deepest parts of his soul, all he wants is some damned rest.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 89
Collections: Anonymous





	1. the shadows on my wall don't sleep

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is brought to you by last nights sleep meds and purple flavour monster energy. not proofread in the slightest, as usual. obi wans thoughts are copied and pasted out of my own brain  
> title is from banks by lincoln  
> sorry abt the spacing, i write in google docs and ao3 fucks it up when i paste it in

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for suicidal thoughts   
> chapter title is from nothing left to say by imagine dragons

Obi Wan is tired. Down to his bones and the deepest parts of his soul, all he wants is some damned rest. He's been on this campaign, a miserable jungle planet in the Mid Rim, for several rotations now. He hasn't slept more than six hours total since they arrived, and the brief respite of meditation is barely holding him together.

Right now they're in between waves of droids, so he's making his rounds to check on the men. They're running low on… well, everything. There isn't enough ammunition for the cannons, their ration supply would hardly be enough for a battalion half their size, and the medics have resorted to using pieces of cloth from tents and uniforms because they're out of bandages. 

The wounded are laid out in rows. Most of them are lying in the mud getting soaked by the ever-present rainfall, because they simply don't have enough supplies and space to keep everyone covered. He passes out words of reassurance and whatever scraps of energy and hope he can give through the Force. By the end of it his head swims and he's got a headache that pulses with his heartbeat, but it's worth it to see the light coming back to the eyes of his men.

He's barely aware enough to hear the scouts shouting as the next wave of droids begins. Unlike clones, the droids have no issues marching through the thick muddy swamp. His men position themselves behind whatever meager cover they can find, and he stands in front of them all with his lightsaber in hand. He lets himself sink into the Force as blaster bolts fly around him. The lightsaber is an extension of him, and he swings it without hesitation to protect his men. 

He's on autopilot, letting his instincts and the Force take over him. It's sort of like meditation, in a way, except it's not restful in the slightest. When the last of the droids is blasted to bits, he's panting lightly and he can't quite focus his eyes. 

"General?" Obi Wan startles before he sees his Commander standing a few paces away, looking every bit as exhausted as Obi Wan himself. 

"Yes, Commander?" 

"Intel says we have a few hours until the next attack. I suggest you rest up before then." 

Obi Wan nods and Cody salutes before walking away. He deactivates his lightsaber and sighs. As much as he desperately wants to sleep, even for a short period of time, there's so much that needs to be done. He needs to report to the Council, and comm Anakin and Ahsoka to check on them, and then he's got piles of flimsiwork and supply requisition forms he needs to complete. He doesn't have the time to sleep.

He heads for the dubious privacy of his tent. Maybe talking to Anakin and Ahsoka will help him. Those two have got practically unlimited energy. But once he's settled on his bedroll and dials Anakin's comm code, nobody on the other end picks up. He's not surprised, not really, because they're all fighting in a war and downtime is a luxury most of the time. It still disappoints him, though. He was hoping that their contagious enthusiasm would give him the strength to wrap this campaign up quickly.

He rubs at his eyes. There's no shortage of work to be done, but he can't find the will to get up and do it. It's not just his body, pushed past its limits once again, but his mind and soul. He's just so  _ tired,  _ the kind of tired that sleep can't touch. 

He isn't meant for this. He's a peacekeeper, not a soldier. He can't just push the fear and pain out of his mind like his men seem to do, and the Force will only take so much from him. 

He wants to just roll over and fall asleep. Even if it doesn't fix anything, he wants to escape for a few hours. But all he can think about is how much he has to do once he wakes up. He's got to finish this campaign and lead the men to victory with minimal casualties, and then there will undoubtedly be more fighting to do. There's no end in sight. Even if the countless battles win the war, the fighting won't  _ stop _ . 

He wants it all to stop.

He wants to sleep and not wake up.

These are dangerous thoughts, he knows. But he wouldn't be the first to die in this war with a blaster in his mouth, and he certainly wouldn't be the last.

It feels like he's suddenly balanced on the edge of a cliff, with the war on one side and the comfort of oblivion on the other, and he desperately wants to fall. The idea of just… not existing anymore is unsettling alluring. It would be easy. His lightsaber is clipped to his belt, he could put it through his heart or brain and be dead in seconds. Alive one moment and dead the next. 

He doesn't get to make a choice, though, because he hears shouts and blaster fire from outside. He drags himself out to investigate and finds that their intel was wrong - the droids are back already. They've caught the men by surprise. 

Obi Wan takes his usual position right in the thick of the fire, his lightsaber little more than a blur around him. The temptation is there to let a bolt past his guard, make it look like an accident, but then he would leave his men undefended, and he isn't cruel. He wouldn't do that to them. 

They manage to destroy the droids. Barely. They've sustained heavy casualties. He tries to block out the cries of pain and grief as he checks on his men. They aren't doing much better than he is, it seems. The medics are overwhelmed. He's not able to help out much, because these injuries are far beyond his healing abilities, but he takes away as much pain as he can. Mostly, he's just making their deaths painless.

He comforts the dying, and a dark part of his brain wishes that the roles were reversed, but that's just a selfish dream of his. Without him, things would be even worse for his men. 

Once the war is over, maybe. When all of his life or death responsibilities are gone. Then he can rest. Maybe for a night, maybe forever.


	2. i hope it's already too late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> obi wan does space opioids i guess

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for drug use n suicidal thoughts again  
> chapter title from no children by the mountain goats

Finally, after a campaign on an arid desert world that had seemed unending, the 212th was granted a glorious three days of leave. They were in between postings in the Outer Rim, so they didn't travel back to Coruscant like some other battalions did. Instead they stayed in orbit around a moderately sized trade outpost less than a day's travel from their next destination. 

It wasn't exactly a nice place to stay - the majority of the outpost's clientele were wanted in one way or another, so they were wary or outright hostile towards the clones. To Obi Wan, though, anywhere that wasn't an active war zone was practically paradise. He could ignore the dirty looks he got as he wandered one of the many bustling marketplaces, because at least he didn't have to fight anyone. That was good enough.

He fights his way through the crowded streets, searching the storefronts for- ah. There it is. The building is derelict, much smaller than those on either side of it, and the faded face has no visible signage. But Obi Wan has a feeling this is what he needs.

The interior isn't much better than the outside. Nothing matches, from the shelves to the oddly-shaped glass bottles, and a cloyingly sweet smoke clouds the room. It's cramped, dimly lit, and full of suspicious characters giving him a side-eye. He tries to adopt their stumbling gait and careless, slurred voices as he approaches what seems to be the shopkeeper.

"You sell something for sleep?" He drawls. 

The Rodian behind the counter blinks lazily at him for a few moments, then grunts and shambles off to presumably a storage room. He returns a minute later holding a glass vial of small pills.

"Careful," the Rodian warns as he sets it down. "Take two or three. Too much and it'll kill ya, real quick. " Obi Wan nods his acknowledgement and hands over a decent sum of credits before slipping the vial into his pocket and walking out.

The moons are beginning to rise as he makes his way back to the flagship in orbit. The crew is split between the ship and the various rooms for rent on the outpost, so nobody will be expecting him back. He lands his fighter without incident and heads for his quarters. The halls are almost empty - he vaguely remembers an event happening at one of the more popular bars on the planet's surface, which is most likely where the men are. 

Once he arrives at his quarters he breathes a sigh of relief and locks the door behind him. Even among his own troops he feels the intense pressure to be their General, the famed Negotiator, and only when he's alone does the pressure let up. It's a lot to handle, and sometimes he needs a karking break.

_ Which is why I have this,  _ he thinks, tracing the cool glass in his pocket. He's not entirely sure what the pills are but as long as they get him to sleep he doesn't care. It's been a long while since he's had a truly restful sleep. Even unconscious his mind is a whirlpool of anxiety and what-ifs. 

He pours three pills into his hand and gulps them down dry, then he settles into his bunk with a holonovel on his datapad and waits. They don't seem to do much, and he starts getting frustrated at the hour mark. He figures maybe the Force is karking it up - sometimes Force users metabolize things differently. He pours another two into his hand.

After swallowing the pills and waiting a while, there still doesn't seem to be much of an effect. He curses, a bit too loudly, and pours another few pills out. He just wants to sleep, is that too kriffing much to ask? His hands are having trouble opening the vial. It keeps slipping from his grip.

He lies back on his bunk and tries to will himself to sleep. All he can hear is the sluggish pump of blood in his ears, and it's suddenly deafening. He glares at the ceiling above his head. No matter how hard he tries he can't seem to shut his eyes and get some sleep. Eventually, he gives up, and slams his fist into the wall with a shout. Force's sake, all he wants is to be asleep.

The gleaming white pills tempt him. There's still a handful or two left, and he gets the sudden urge to swallow them all. He remembers the Rodian's words of caution, but he doesn't care. At best, he gets to fall into oblivion for a while. At worst, well… he wouldn't have to fight anymore.

His brain is tired. His soul is tired. His body is tired. Obi Wan is so damned  _ tired. _

The pills rattle in their bottle as he pours them out. He doesn't count them, but he's sure it's definitely more than the recommended dose. He takes them all in two swallows, with a sip of water. It's surprisingly easy. Just as easy as breathing, really. 

He's starting to feel a bit tired. His stomach churns, but for once it's just nausea and not anxiety. He doesn't lie down gracefully so much as he flops face-down into his hard mattress. It doesn't matter how uncomfortable he is, because he can feel himself fading fast. 

_ You don't have to do this much longer,  _ he tells himself, but he doesn't know where the thought comes from.


	3. wash the poison from off my skin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minimal research was done about... well, any of it  
> title from castle of glass by linkin park  
> today's my birthday so i guess this is like. a present to myself

Cody's going to karking murder whatever  _ di'kut  _ is blowing up his comm at this hour. He'd missed the first few messages, having managed to finally fall asleep, but the incessant beeping is impossible to ignore even in sleep. He rolls over and groans when he sees the time on the chrono. 

He squints at the jarringly bright display of his comlink. Surprisingly, it's General Skywalker that's pestering him, and not one of his brothers trying to ruin his night. He would've ignored messages from just about anyone else, but Skywalker usually respected downtime, so this was probably actually important.

The earliest message reads, ' _ Commander, could you check on Obi Wan for me? The Force is giving me a bad feeling.'  _ The next message, received a few seconds later, says, ' _ I'm sorry if I woke you, but this feels urgent."  _ Then, ' _ No, I'm  _ sure  _ it's urgent. I think he might be in danger, Commander.'  _ As he's reading, a new message pops up at the top of his screen and he automatically scans it. ' _ Cody I think he's dying' _ . 

It takes him a moment to read it in his tired state but he feels his heart rate pick up as he does. General Skywalker isn't exactly a stickler for rules, but something about the message - no titles or punctuation, like it was written desperately in a hurry - sends a stab of fear to his gut.

He doesn't bother putting on his armour, just grabs his blaster and races down the shortest path to the General's quarters. The pounding of his feet is the only sound in the otherwise quiet ship. By the time he's keying in the emergency override code on Obi Wan's door, he's breathing far too fast, and not just because of the sprint that took him here. 

The room appears deserted at first, but then Cody notices an Obi Wan-shaped lump on the bunk, blending in with the blankets in the dark. "General?", he asks, and his voice is unnervingly loud in the stillness. No response. He rushes to General's side and feels for a pulse. For a moment there's nothing and he starts to panic, but then he feels it, weak and unsteady, but  _ there. _ The General's face is even paler than usual, like it was drained of blood.

Cody moves Obi Wan onto his side and something glints in the low light. A glass bottle, and after feeling around for a moment he finds a small pill that had been hidden under the General's leg. Well, kark.

He goes to the 'fresher and rummages for a moment before he finds what he's looking for - one of the small standard-issue medkits that Obi Wan had stashed everywhere due to his ridiculous tendency to get injured all the time. He's intimately familiar with the contents of the medkit, having used the same model hundreds of times. The small needle is exactly where it is every time. 

He takes it back to Obi Wan's prone form and injects it into the muscle of his thigh with steady hands that desperately want to shake. Then he sits back on his heels and waits, in the dark silence, heart pounding in his chest.  _ Please don't be too late _ , he begs to anyone that's listening. 

Slowly, excruciatingly, Obi Wan's breathing picks up. It's the most beautiful sound Cody's ever heard. Then Obi Wan groans, and he gags and throws up. Luckily Cody's already rolled him onto his side, so he doesn't choke. He heaves another few times without anything coming up. "What-" Obi Wan interrupts himself to throw up again, and Cody shushes him before he can try and speak again.

He gives the General a few minutes to empty his stomach and catch his breath, then says in the stablest voice he can manage, "I'm going to kick your ass, sir." 

"I'm sorry," Obi Wan whispers. His voice is hoarse and full of an emotion Cody can't name.

Cody sits down cross-legged on the floor as his calves protest his crouched position. "Why'd you do it?" he asks bluntly. He's met with a long silence, and he's about to ask again when the General sighs quietly.

"I'm tired, Cody."

"Everyone's tired, sir."

"I know. I promise you I didn't intend to go this far." 

_ What, did you accidentally swallow a whole bottle of pills?  _ Cody wants to ask. Cody wants to do a lot of things right now - punch a wall, or start sobbing, maybe. "You need to talk to General Skywalker," is what he says instead. 

Obi Wan sighs again, and shifts in his bunk. Once again they lapse into silence. Cody picks at the loose thread on his pants and tries to keep his breathing steady.

"You don't need to stay, Commander," Obi Wan says softly.  _ I'm not going to try again,  _ is what he means.

"I need to make sure the medication I gave you is working, sir. If I didn't administer enough, you'll pass out again in half an hour or so." 

Obi Wan seems to register for the first time the scattered contents of the medkit and the discarded syringe strewn about his room, like it's only just occurred to him that he didn't come back from the brink of death by magic. He accepts Cody's answer, though.

Cody shifts so he's leaning against the General's bunk to relieve the growing ache in his lower back. He tips his head back and slips into an almost-sleep state, periodically checking the chrono. After forty-five minutes or so, he stands and stretches. "If you're not dead yet, you'll be fine," he says to the darkness of the bunk. Obi Wan hums sleepily in reply. Cody checks his pulse one last time, relieved to see that it's almost normal. 

"I'm sorry if I frightened you, Commander," Obi Wan whispers. The movement of his throat under Cody's fingers is strangely reassuring.

Cody brushes off the concern. "I think you scared General Skywalker worse, sir." Silence. "He said he felt you dying."

"I'll be sure to apologize tomorrow morning," Obi Wan says. His voice cracks. Neither of them acknowledge it.

Cody stands awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, then turns to leave. "Get some sleep, sir," he says, then shuts the door behind him as quietly as he can.


	4. a breathless beast of death i've made for you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i know y'all probably want a happy ending but i write this fic to vent my emotions and i haven't really been feeling 'happy ending' recently. i cried while writing this  
> if anyone was expecting a plot or something that makes sense i apologize  
> title is from taxi cab by twenty one pilots

He doesn't want Cody to leave.  _ I don't trust myself, I'm sorry, come back,  _ he wants to plead. He can't get the words out of his mouth fast enough, the door shuts behind Cody as he walks away, and Obi Wan begs to an empty room.

He wraps his arms around himself and curls inwards defensively. _ I don't want to be alone _ , he thinks. His entire body is shaking and unsteady, like a ship on the brink of exploding. He twists his fingers together and digs blunt nails into his skin, scrabbling at his arms like an animal. He wants to rip himself apart.

He makes a broken, inhuman noise from the back of his throat. He's been composed for so, so long, and now he's being torn apart at the seams. He hasn't cried for years, not since he was an initiate, but now hot tears are spilling down his face and he chokes on a sob. It's all too much.

He wishes that he was dead. Wishes that Cody failed, and his heart stopped, and he never woke up again. He burns with self hatred. Here he is, pathetically covered in his own sick and crying like a child, too weak to even survive. He  _ deserves _ to die. He's proven himself incompetent and unstable, and he'll surely be relieved of his command, and his men will be better off without him.  _ They all will. _

With trembling fingers he brushes the hilt of his lightsaber. It's smooth and cold, and he reverently traces the patterns in the metal. It would be poetic, to die the same way his Master did.  _ It should've been me _ , he thinks. He's about a decade too late to right that wrong. He knows that he's being selfish. His death will hurt the people that care about him. But he needs to do this, because he just can't fight anymore. 

He dares ( _ begs) _ the Force to try and stop him. He wants Cody to tell him he's being stupid, or Anakin to make him a cup of tea like Obi Wan always did for him when he got upset. He needs someone to talk him out of this. But nobody is coming unless he asks them to, and he  _ can't. _

He stifles a sob with his fist and it comes out as a whine. He's never felt so alone in his life. So ready to die, and yet so terrified.

He grasps his lightsaber in a shaking hand, and presses it to his heart. "I'm so sorry," he whispers aloud. He doesn't know who he's talking to.

He inhales, slow and steady. Exhales. Then he ignites the 'saber, the brilliant blue blade piercing his chest. For a moment he can feel the Force stronger than he ever has, flowing around him like a river.

Then he falls to his knees, and sleeps at last.


End file.
